


2:15

by yourfearlessleader



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Season/Series 03, Uh so, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfearlessleader/pseuds/yourfearlessleader
Summary: 24 hours.1440 minutes.86400 seconds.





	2:15

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is... a porny snippet of something..
> 
> Set whenever/however in season 3 - at the rate this show is going, this is probably The Darkest Timeline series of events lmao

 

24 hours.  
1440 minutes.  
86400 seconds.

 

What is a day made of?  
Waking, eating, shitting, working, walking, talking. His apartment, the office, the train, rinse, repeat. Each moment present and accounted for.

 

What is a night made of?  
His bed. Sleeping.

  
What happens then?

* * *

 

Elliot wakes up.

  
_2.15am_

  
The clock on the wall is across a dark room he doesn't recognise. A terminal, a bed, two soft chairs opposite his.  
Focus shifts. There's someone kneeling between his legs, big hands gripping his thighs, blond head bobbing. Tyrell. Oh.

  
_Oh._

  
Elliot thinks he might be dreaming, but if the past two years have taught him anything, he's never dreaming.

He should move. He should push Tyrell off him, but there's an excitement, just like everything else they've done, a sickening thrill like watching a car crash in slow motion, you can't stop it, even if you wanted to. He's so hard it makes his toes curl.

And then, _he's_ there. The one who got him into this mess in the first place, sat in the armchair opposite.

'What a view, huh? Gotta say I preferred it more from where you were sitting but hey, we can't all have what we want right.'

  
He can barely focus, Tyrell redoubling his efforts to recapture Elliot's attention. A breathy shudder escapes him.

  
'You woke me up? For this?'

  
'God no. You just can't stay away when it comes to this poor, pathetic piece of shit. I thought he was gonna be dead weight, turns out he is good for something after all.'

 

Elliot swallows, uncomfortable. The air is dry, filled with quiet, wet sounds, and Mr Robot's stare pins him, heavy, to the sofa. His face flushes, he groans despite himself, feeling that familiar tightness in his groin. Tyrell really is good at this.

He definitely should move. Just when he shifts, summons enough resolve to move the hand bunched up by his side, Tyrell moans too. _Fuck._

 

'Go on, Elliot. Give it to him, he likes it rough.'

 

He clenches, god he's so turned on, its been so long, but how can he do this with _him_ sat there, the image of his dead father, watching him in this position.

'Go away.'

'No. You don't get to have all the fun. Especially tonight.'

The clink of a belt belt buckle, the slide of a zipper, Elliot's blood rushes hot/cold. His eyes screw shut but it's too late, he's already seen the thick head of Mr Robot's cock pushing through his fingers. He can hear the rustle of him jerking off across from them, the way his breathing hitches off into a chuckle, taunting him.

'Look at me Elliot, I want to share this moment with you. I've been trying to this whole time but it took _this_ for you to really listen. And you're getting off on it too, how fucked up are you?'

He's going to reply, to protest, but Tyrell's hands clench, massaging Elliot's thighs, trying to rock him closer. His eyes fly open. The guy is still practically in his suit, shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms, and he's grinding into the sofa. Elliot can see the way Tyrell's hips jerk, the same rhythm as his head, can hear the squeaking of his leather shoes as he thrusts. A God brought to his knees. He's getting off on this too. Does he know? Does he know it's not him? How can he? God this is fucked up. Elliot freezes up, irrational fear taking hold.

'Easy now.'

Mr Robot's pace is slow, languid and loose as he strokes himself. He's leaned back into the chair, legs spread wide so Elliot can see properly. His cock is thick, leaking. Elliot's mouth waters. It's a feedback loop. Elliot sees the tight circle of Mr Robot's fingers but he feels the wet suction of Tyrell's lips, moving in tandem, sending dizzying sparks up his spine. He wants to see him come, he likes being watched like this. _No._

'Please.. stop.'

'Still trying to deny it huh?'

Its his dad's voice, his clothes, his face, his _smell_ , distant but clear in his memory. Elliot averts his gaze, this is wrong.  
Mr Robot rolls his eyes.

'I'm not him, kid.'

He leans forward in the chair.

'But then again, I'm not you either. I can give you what you want.'

In a blink he's up from the chair, a hand splays across the back of Tyrell's head and pushes him down further. Elliot's gasp breaks on a wounded cry. Tyrell chokes but stays down, ever obedient. Elliot can feel intimately the way his throat constricts and suddenly he's right on the edge.  
He looks at Mr Robot with panicked eyes, their stare locks. Mr Robot's grip digs into Tyrell's perfectly slicked hair, mussing it, uses the leverage to properly thrust him up and down. It makes Elliot shudder, it's not even Mr Robot's hand, he's not real, it's his. He's fucking Tyrell Wellick's throat while a code executes in the background. By now he knows what this is; celebration.

Still holding his gaze, Mr Robot grins, Tyrell swallows around him, and that's it. He comes with a long, unbidden groan, trembling as the pleasure/panic rips through him, lighting every dead nerve with electricity.

  
Tyrell waits until Elliot finishes shaking and pulls off. His eyes make contact with Elliot's and he makes a point of swallowing. Elliot watches his Adam's apple bob and his dick twitches. But something in his eyes must give him away.

'Elliot?'

Shit.

'Elliot is that you?'

He can't meet his eyes, they dart everywhere else but the man on the floor, the man behind him. Panic. He thinks about running.

'Oh, Elliot.'

Before he can do anything to stop it Tyrell has gotten up and pushed him round so he leans over the back of the sofa. He kneels on the cushions behind Elliot, pulls his open pants the rest of the way down and starts furiously jerking off. Blood rushes in Elliot's ears, he's naked from the waist down and not strong enough to fend Tyrell off if he tries to fuck him. Something in his mind tells him he wouldn't even try if he did. Something that sounds shudderingly like Mr Robot.

Instead Tyrell just breathes heavily, his loosened hair brushing the back of Elliot's neck as he watches the space down between them. Elliot can't see it but he feels the hand bump against him as Tyrell masturbates. The wet head touches between his cheeks, his skin goes prickly hot. Tyrell suddenly pins him with an arm to his back and it's not long before he comes, loudly, in hot stripes over Elliot's ass, painting him thick and wet.

Elliot's eyes close, exhausted, and he shivers when he hears _his_ voice warm and smug in his ear.

' _Atta boy, Elliot_.'

 


End file.
